Total pages in book: 117
Estimated words: 108342 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 542(@200wpm)___ 433(@250wpm)___ 361(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 108342 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 542(@200wpm)___ 433(@250wpm)___ 361(@300wpm)
With every breath he took, his life revolved around work, alcohol, the tattoo parlor, or finding a woman who liked boat rides, quiet walks, and fucking in marathon sessions. Now that Mom was gone, he regretted paying so much attention to those things. Work could have waited.
Years prior he was trying to save up money to achieve his goals, one of which was to have his own store, so he often burnt the candle at both ends. The alcohol as he got older lost a lot of its luster and appeal, too. Now, instead of downing several beers, it was usually just one, and sometimes he’d even skip a day or two. The tattoo addiction still existed, but he was more concerned about quality now versus quantity, and his quest to settle down with someone for more than just screwing-on-demand remained ongoing.
So why did he waste that precious time? He regretted little in his life. But that? Oh, yes. He’d give his pinky finger to hear Mom talk for at least an hour straight, taking few breaths to discuss the latest church gossip and goings-on just one more time…
He wanted to hear her ramblings about the rotten potatoes from the market and how she had a right mind to tell them she wanted her money back, or the perfect tomatoes she scored for free by some great stroke of luck.
Dad was a man of few words, but many emotions. Sometimes, they were drowned in a bottle. He would occasionally yell a hello in the background, and on occasion ask him about something to do with computers and the internet. Dad wasn’t particularly tech savvy and shunned such things, but as with life, eventually one must acclimate. He begrudgingly accepted a cellphone from him after Mom died. Nikolai paid the bill for his old man every month like clockwork. He let him know how important it was in this day and age, and he didn’t want to worry about him.
As he sat there running through these old memories, his heart sank and dread filled him.
“I didn’t know what to do at first, but now, I’m keeping the evil away, Mom…” he whispered. “I’m doing the best I can. Things have gotten complicated. I know you know what’s up… you always knew… but what could you do? You gave birth to a monster.”
‘I love you too, son…’
There was nothing more to say. He believed that would be her response. Short and simple to something so huge and complex. Disconnecting the pretend call, he stewed in his thoughts. Then he grabbed the red book of whispers from the top drawer of his nightstand and jotted down a few ideas with his Pilot pen. He fell into a rhythm as the sound of his writing dragged across the paper, delivering curls and loops in black ink. His teachers always complimented him on his penmanship.
He heard the faint groan of a siren outside. Ambulance or fire truck he wasn’t sure, but it had to be a great distance away. Maybe the police… His thoughts landed on Ms. Porsche Lee.
He set his red book aside and opened the top drawer once again. He looked at her business card lying there amongst his gum wrappers, half empty box of condoms, old store receipts, his loaded gun, and knife. Picking it up, he brought it to his nose. It smelled slightly of perfume and laundry detergent. Then he remembered she’d had it in her pocket.
She was silly to believe he wouldn’t notice her. Or maybe she did realize that, but didn’t care? Porsche Lee was African American, and there weren’t too many Black people in his neighborhood. Of course he’d see her! On top of that, she was fucking drop dead gorgeous. Under any other circumstances, he would have asked her out in a heartbeat. He almost didn’t due to the nature of her visit, but that hesitation was fleeting and short-lived.
When he wanted a woman, he went after her. Most of his relationships had failed for one reason or another, but rarely had he approached a woman and been rejected. He didn’t think it had much to do with his looks for he didn’t see himself as particularly handsome, but he believed it was how he carried himself. How he conducted business, too. Women liked to feel protected, even when they were totally capable of taking care of themselves, and real men liked doing the protecting.
When she was speaking to him, he found himself staring at her lips, his sexual urges awakened. All despite the fact that this mess had reared its ugly head again.
He ran his hands over his head and shook it.
I thought this shit was finally behind me?
He figured he had a few choices. He could tell her to go take a hike, which might only make him look more suspicious, or he could’ve left things as they were and went home after her soft interrogation. The third option was twofold: keep her close to him by engaging her in a date to drill her for information about what the police knew, and also drill between her legs until she spurted orgasmic oil. Even through her clothing, he could tell she had an amazing body. Small waist. Nice breasts. They were big, but not so big that they were distracting. She wasn’t skinny, but she appeared fit. Curves in all the right places.